


Local Landmarks

by Java_bean



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Graffiti, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:58:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Java_bean/pseuds/Java_bean
Summary: Rose closes the passenger side door and immediately turns to you.  "You know, Dave, there are better ways to get a crush's attention than vandalizing his property."Dave takes up a new hobby and somehow accidentally targets Karkat, much to both their dismay.





	Local Landmarks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apocalypticTaco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocalypticTaco/gifts).



> I wrote this fic as a request for the amazing, talented, and fantastic Sam @notedchampagne/apocalypticTaco  
> As usual, I can only hope I did their awesome prompt justice with this fic.

It starts with your garage.

You woke up late on Monday morning and had to scramble to get ready as quickly as you could. You didn’t even have time to brush your hair or your teeth, just enough to throw on a sweater over your pajamas and out the door. 

You curse your brother quietly under your breath for not waking you up before he went to school and pray to the powers that be that your bike hasn’t been stolen on top of this. You were stupid and left it leaning against the garage instead of actually _inside_ of it like a fucking idiot.

The sun is shining bright and cold in the early morning autumn, and it glints off the metal and peeling paint of your thankfully still there bike. You clutch your chest and sigh with relief. You don’t know what the fuck you would have done if it wasn’t here. Run, you guess?

Thankfully, you don’t have to find out.

You grab your bike and are about to start off when something bright on your usually beige garage catches your eye. You turn around slowly.

Your bike clatters to the ground.

The garage...there’s paint. All over it. Garish orange and eye searing red. 

It’s...some sort of portrait? Something you might consider artistic if it wasn’t splattered across your garage door. 

No, this....this is just vandalism. Beautiful vandalism, but vandalism none the less.

You take a step away from it so you can get a better view. You can’t believe someone would do this to your hive. Well, yes you can, you just can’t believe anyone would have the globes to actually go through with it. It’s...so strange.

The strangest part is that...as your eyes wander over the figures painted on your garage (given further inspection it’s a...very risque pose, looks like they were more ballsy than you’d originally thought) you think you might actually recognize the art style. You wrack your shocked and sleep addled pan for a connection, and it strikes you like a volt of electricity through your posture pole.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe into the empty air, “Ponyboy.”

You groan, your head falling into your hands. You take another long look at the graffitti painted onto your garage, fully aware that you’re never going to be able to wash it all off. 

You’re not awake enough to deal with this shit right now.

“I need coffee.”

You drag yourself back inside. Something this big is worth being late to school over.

 

Sunday was your first night out with your brother. You were nervous as fuck as the two of you snuck around, cans of spray paint clinking together loudly in the deep quiet of the night. You were also ecstatic that you got to participate in your brother’s craft and the fact that you may even be able to show off your own art soon.

That wasn’t the night for that, though. Dirk told you he actually had an easy and potentially quick job that he thought would be perfect for your first time out. He even had premade stencils and everything.

That was a little disappointing. You were hoping to free hand it. But who knows? Maybe next time. You’re sure you’ll have more free reign over what you get to paint later on in your career.

When he showed you where you were gonna be painting, your body was abuzz with adrenaline. A residential area, a garage attached to a little house in the suburbs. 

Fuck, it was risky. Even for Dirk. 

You told Dirk as much. He dug a bottle of spray paint out of your bag and said that good art was always risky.

You told him that he was being kind of a pretentious dick, but whatever. He shook the bottle and asked you to hold part of the stencil for him. 

“Speaking of risky,” he whispered as quietly as possible, “wait til you see the tasty fucking piece I cooked up for this special occasion.”

You laughed. You tried to stay as quiet as possible, but the sound bubbled hysterically out of you. Hearing him talk so casually, like you weren’t doing something big and important, made your nerves calm down just a little bit. By the time Dirk finished with his half of the stencil, you were back to feeling normal.

Your hand shook a little when it’s your turn to paint. Other than that, you’re completely calm, and you made quick work of finishing your half of the piece. As soon as you’re done, you helped Dirk roll up the stencils and shove them back into your duffel bag. 

As soon as you toss the last empty can of spray paint in, he shoulders it and starts running, knocking a bike over in the process. You managed to catch the stupid fucker before it hit the concrete and gave you two away. You carefully eased it back against the garage.

While you backed away fromt the scene, your eyes firmly planted on the bike in case it fell over again like a little shit, you had a nagging feeling in the back of your head that you’ve seen this bike before.

“Dude,” Dirk hissed at you, “hurry the fuck up.”

So you did. You hurried the fuck up and ran away.

All in all, it was a good first time out.

 

Tuesday you wake up on time for school. You have enough time to actually get dressed, eat breakfast, and dump a pot of coffee into a thermos before walking over to your bike. You keep your eyes on the sky to avoid looking at the fucking garage. It’s still covered in the huge ass bulb watering graffiti. 

You grasp for your bike’s handlebars without looking at them. Just the blur of red or orange in your periphery is enough to make you grind your calcium nubs together in annoyance. You don’t give a shit about graffiti usually, and you honestly don’t care that it’s on your garage to begin with. 

What you _do_ care about is the fact that the city won’t let you fucking touch it. Kankri called the police after he came home from university to bitch about it, but by the time someone came to examine it he’d already bitched about it to a million other people and all over the internet. (Not that you didn’t complain, but you kept yours to a small circle of close friends, like Kanaya). So the police came, and so did some other people, art snobs and people interested in the rich local culture and shit like that.

Your dad was called home from work, and he had to close the store early so he could talk to the police and tell them that he had no idea what was going on, and that he really didn’t care all that much about the graffiti. Kankri demanded someone be charged for damages, your house was your property, after all. You just wanted everyone to leave and stop asking you about shit you don’t know about, and you wanted to clean the garage. 

That caused an uproar the likes of which you couldn’t fucking believe. The art snobs and the culture people were on you like a pack of feral barkbeasts just for suggesting the idea of scrubbing paint off. This art was clearly the work of local legend Ponyboy, and in fact was a show of them becoming bolder and possibly even refining their craft, as the use of multiple paint showed. If anything in this case was a crime, it would be the mere suggestion of getting rid of this pivotal work in this talented local artist’s career. The police didn’t quite agree with that, but they also couldn’t find any evidence to help them uncover the culprit’s identity and therefore couldn’t convict anyone just yet. 

They did agree with the art crowd that you shouldn’t wash the paint off because that would be destroying evidence in an open investigation, and that itself would be illegal. In the meantime, the other people were planning on getting the area designated as a local landmark, as they had with several of Ponyboy’s other pieces around town. 

Either way, you’re not allowed to fucking clean the garage door right now, and there’s a possibility you never will. And on top of that, your whole night was fucking wasted saying and hearing the same bullshit over and over and over again until your pan turned to mush and dripped out your ears. Then you had to stay up even later than usual just to make sure you got all your homework finished.

Just thinking about it gives you the biggest fucking migraine. You bike even faster. Maybe you can clear your mind of this stupid shit by focusing on class and whatever drama your friends have inevitably gotten yourself into. 

You get to school early and drag your feet towards your first class. You’re a little nervous about seeing the teacher because you missed the whole damn hour yesterday. Even though you talked to the teacher and the office about why you weren’t there and they seemed to understand your reason for being so late, you have a sneaking suspicion that you’re no longer as trusted a student as you used to be. 

You get in the classroom and collapse into your seat, your backpack resting heavily in your lap. You start to remove all the shit you need for class, plus your thermos of hot coffee. The teacher isn’t in the room, and you have the entire classroom to yourself for the time being. You use the opportunity to arrange all your shit on the desktop, play on your palmhusk, and drink deeply from your thermos.

“Karkat, hey.” Kanaya walks into the room and sits at the desk next to yours. “How’d it go with the garage? I didn’t hear from you again after school yesterday.”

“It went shitty as hell, Kanaya. Over all the hours the police were there, fuckall got accomplished and the garage still has that dumb fucking mural plastered across the door.” You huff. This really wasn’t what you wanted to think about while you were here. 

“Well that sucks.”

“It’s absolute bullshit, is what it is.” You take another drink from your thermos and burn your mouth in the process. “I hate it so much. Dad had to close the store down to talk to the police, so we missed out on an entire evening’s worth of profit. Which we both know we fucking need desperately, considering the goddamn position we’re in financially.”

“Have you discussed with your father that it might help if he did some sort of advertisement for the store? Or perhaps a sign?”

“Of course I talked to him about getting a fucking sign.” You roll your eyes, twisting the cap back on your thermos and placing it on your desk. “We have that conversation at least once a week, but he refuses to get one because it ‘ruins the bit’. You know, we don’t have a sign? We’re signless? _He’s_ Signless?”

You drum two pencils against the desk and hit your thermos in a _badum tss_ motion. “Get it?”

Kanaya sighs and shakes her head. “He’s really serious about his lusus jokes, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is.” You sigh. “So serious I think he might drive himself out of business in the process.”

Kanaya pats you on the shoulder. “If it helps I’ll only shop at your store from now on.”

“You’ve been shopping at other stores, Kanaya? Traitor.”

“I know, how dare I pick out makeup that isn’t from my local general store.” She shakes her head. “I’m the absolute worst.”

“You’re right, you really are. You know what else is the absolute worst?” 

“No, what?” She leans forward, face resting against her hand, clearly intrigued with whatever you’re about to say.

“Some asshats are trying to make the thing a landmark or some shit. It may be there forever and I’m going to have to deal with snobbish dickhead tourists and art folks standing outside my hive and oogling my garage at all hours of the night.”

Kanaya opens her mouth to say something, but she’s interrupted by rapping on the classroom’s door. You both turn your eyes to see Dave Strider stroll into the room with his sister Rose following behind. You already feel your blood start to boil just at the sight of him. 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re griping about, Mr. President,” he says casually as he walks to the back of the classroom. He takes a seat on top of the desk, “but in my expert opinion you need to calm the hell down before you pop an ulcer. Or at least tone it down so your irritating voice can’t be heard from fifteen miles away.”

God, what an asshole. “First of all, I’m not the president. I’m the treasurer, fuckface. And if my voice was really that loud, you wouldn’t need to ask me what the fuck I was talking about because you’d already know. Why do you care at all anyway, Dave? Your life’s so boring you have to back your flat ass up and butt into mine? Thirdly,” 

You open your notebook and tear out a piece of paper, crushing it into a ball.

You throw it at him. “Fuck you.”

It strikes against Dave’s sunglasses. He snorts at you. “Jesus, what the fuck crawled up your asshole and died?”

“Karkat’s hive was vandalized.” Kanaya explains, as if you needed any justification for your actions.

“Whoa, what?” Dave’s smirk falls from his face. “Your house was vandalized, Karkat?”

“Yeah.” You admit with a sigh. You’re probably going to have to repeat this constantly today. “Someone spraypainted shit all over my garage and I’m not allowed to do anything about it for multiple fucked up reasons.”

For some reason that gets Rose’s attention. “Multiple fucked up reasons?” 

You nod. “There’s a good chance that it was Ponyboy’s the fucker who hit my place.”

“Really? Ponyboy?” Dave tilts his head. “That doesn’t really sound like his M.O.”

“I don’t think so, either!” You agree, picking up your palmhusk and going into your pictures. “But you have to admit, it definitely looks like their work.”

You motion for Dave and Rose to come closer. The two huddle around your phone to examine the photo of the graffiti you took yesterday morning. 

“Holy shit.” Dave’s hand moves towards your palmhusk, probably in an attempt to take it from you so he can get an even closer look. His hand brushes against yours. It feels like static on your skin.

You hold it as far away from him as you can. “Hey! You can look at it but don’t touch, wastemouth.”

“Sorry. Fuck.” He takes his hand back. “That’s your garage?”

“Yeah, and that’s the fucking ‘art’ that Ponyboy allegedly splattered across it like the worst paintjob of the century.” 

“That’s intriguing.” Rose nods. 

“It really is.” Kanaya agrees. Then you see a strange look cross over her face. “Karkat, do you think your hive was chosen at random, or on purpose?”

“On purpose?” You hadn’t even thought about it. “Why would this bigtime graffiti artist target my hive? It makes no sense.”

“You’re probably right, Karkat.” Rose straightens up. “My best guess is that Ponyboy just decided to go a different, more brazen direction with their work and your home just happened to be the one they picked.”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably it.”

You look back down at the image on your phone. Rose is right. There’s no reason someone would purposefully target your home. You live in a very kind and understanding community, and your dad is an upstanding member of said community. You may not be as good of a person as he is, but you definitely keep your head down and try to stay out of trouble. The same can be said for your brother, Kankri. Of course you weren’t targeted on purpose.

Right? 

“Dave, I just remembered that there was something I wanted to talk to you about.” Rose says suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. “About the science homework.”

“About the-” he sounds confused, but then he looks at Rose’s face and something clicks, “oh, right. Yeah, I can help you with the science homework.”

“Perfect.” She grabs his arm and begins dragging him towards the door. “We’ll be back soon, Kanaya. Karkat.”

Kanaya waves goodbye to Rose as she watches her leave. “Alright.”

The two disappear down the hall, and you grin and lift your eyebrows at Kanaya. “So, Rose Lalonde, right? I could practically cut the tension between you two with a knife.”

Kanaya covers her face with her hands, her cheeks growing spring green. “No you couldn’t. Don’t mess with me, Karkat.”

“I’m not! I think you should ask her out.” You nudge her leg with your foot. “Come on, you’ve liked her for a solid fucking year now, when are you gonna take the plunge and do it already?”

“I don’t know! Honestly, I don’t think I have the globes to do it.” She sighs in defeat. “Perhaps I will just become a constant charming and engaging presence in her life and she will eventually ask me out instead.”

“That’s...one way to start a relationship.” You hold your thermos out to her. “Coffee?”

“Thank you.” She accepts the offer and wipes at it before taking a drink. Rose and Dave return from the hall. “Rose, did you get everything sorted out with your science homework.”

“Yes.” She glances at Dave. “Everything has been perfectly squared away. So what were you two talking about while we were out?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrug, “stuff.”

“We were also discussing the science homework.” Kanaya is quick to lie. “I’m not sure I understood it myself. Rose, care to explain it to me?”

“Of course.” Rose sits down beside her. “Show me.”

You leave Kanaya and Rose to their thing and go back to hanging out on your palmhusk. Dave seems to have the same idea and heads back to his own desk, his head down and staring at the ground as if he just noticed how obnoxious the pattern on the carpet is.

It’s not long before class starts. Then you don’t have to think about anything for a good long while. 

Until class ends and the next begins, and you have to tell the story all over again. It’s absolute bullshit.

Total, absolute, bullshit.

 

You had no fucking idea that was Karkat’s house you spray painted with Dirk on Sunday. If you had known beforehand you wouldn’t have gone through with it. You would have suggested a different place to paint. Someplace less conspicuous. Less the home of a guy you kinda sorta like.

Kinda.

Sorta.

You’re waiting for him outside the student council’s club room. He makes eye contact with you through a window, and you stick your middle finger up at him. Karkat glares back at you and does the same.

It’s complicated. 

You know that your brother and his art are a big deal around town, and he’s been texting you all day about the rumors he’s heard regarding his most recent (and your first) piece. There’s already petitions and shit all over his school about convincing the city to make it a permanent installation in their growing collection of Ponyboy modern artwork. He seems pleased as fuck about it. You, however, feel sick to your stomach.

Fuck, you have to make this up to Karkat somehow. 

Karkat’s meeting ends, and you stand by the door and watch as the other members of the student council filter out of the room and go their own separate ways. Karkat is the last one out. 

He steps out of the room and stands in front of you. He has one hand gripping the strap of his heavy looking backpack, and the other shoved into the front pocket of his dark jeans. “What the fuck are you doing here, Dave? You’re not in any clubs.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” You nod. “Honestly I only stayed late because-”

It’s only in this moment that you realize you never actually figured out what you were going to say. Fuck.

“Because I’ve been thinking long and hard about you since art class, I mean not you specifically of fucking course, but we’re starting new projects and someone asked if they could use Ponyboy’s work as inspiration or if they didn’t count as a real artist because their work isn’t in a museum or some shit. Honestly in my opinion that’s a pretty shitty way to define art and artistry. Like just because I haven’t gotten my shit into a museum, Alice, doesn’t make me not an artist. Do you _see_ this thing I drew? This hella rad and creative thing I did? Because I’m a fucking artist? Or do you only appreciate Van Gogh’s Starry Night or Salvador Dali’s Elephants? I can get surrealist as fuck in a lot less brush strokes and _no_ mustache wax. What the fuck are you doing with your life that you don’t think art can exist outside of a museum? Because whatever it is it must be sad as fuck. And actually while I’m on the subject I do think Dali’s mustache is a work of surrealist art in and of itself. You ever seen it, Karkat? Fuck, you haven’t lived and seen a mustache til you see this thing. Here, check this out.”

You do a quick search for Salvador Dali and click the first picture so it takes up your entire screen. You then show it to Karkat.

He glances at it and raises an eyebrow at you. “You stayed late to show me a mustache?”

“Yes. No.” You put your phone in your back pocket. “That was just a bonus thing to get your attention. A little hairy amuse bouche or however the fuck it’s said. What I was getting to is my art class had this huge discussion about Ponyboy’s work and whether it’s art or just graffiti - and really, what’s the difference?- and someone brought up your garage.”

“Shit.” Karkat sights, readjusting his bag on his shoulder. “Word’s really getting around about that, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s all over the school at this point.” You admit. “And while we were talking about that I realized I...kinda wanted to see it in person? Before shit blows up and you’re allowed to wash it off or the city seizes your garage door for a one piece exhibit of Ponyboy’s work just so half my art class acknowledges them as an artist.”

Karkat looks at you, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Can I come to your house and look at your garage?”

Oh. Wow. So _that’s_ where you’re going with this.

“Okay. Sure, fuck, fine.” Karkat shrugs. He takes his hand out of his pocket and runs it through his hair. “I was planning on going straight to work after this, but I can detour and show this shit to you up close and personal. You better not tell anyone I’m doing this for you, though, I don’t want people thinking that we get along or that I’m willing to drag anyone over to my house if they ask in the worst way possible.”

“Wait, no.” You shake your head. “I don’t want to make you late for work or something. We can do this later.”

“It’s fine. I have a good record so I won’t get into too much trouble. Either way my boss is always lenient with me. Sure, you can come to my hive.”

You follow Karkat down the hall and outside. While you walk, you take out your phone and text Rose.

hey you can take the car and go home without me

Dave, I left a half hour ago. Did you really think I would wait this long for you?

wow harsh fuck you i guess

Fuck you, too. See you when you get home.

You put your phone in your pocket again and watch Karkat slip his other arm through the second strap on his bag. He leads you past the now almost empty parking lot, the one by the bus stop. You’re not exactly sure where the fuck he’s taking you until you look ahead of him and see the school’s single shitty bike rack, with a lone equally as shitty bike leaning against it.

Your heart drops into your stomach and boils in the acid. That bike...

The bike Dirk knocked over. That you caught. The bike that you thought felt familiar.

It’s Karkat’s. Fuck, of course it’s Karkat. 

Karkat takes the bike out of the rack and wheels it so it’s facing you. You look down at the bike with its peeling black paint and patches of rust. “I would normally ride this bitch as fast as my stubby jelly filled legs will carry me so no one actually has to see me riding a two wheeled device as if I’m still some wide bulbed grub looking like I just pupated fresh out of the coonwith goo still thick in my hair. But since you’re coming with me, not only am I going to look like a stupid naive grub, but I’m also going to be the idiot who can’t function properly using a simple children’s machine. If any good came out of this it’s the fact that you’re also going to look like a fucking panless moron, possibly even more so than I will because you choose to dress like _that_.”

“You wound me. Why must you insult my style, Karkat? Whatever did I do to you?” 

Besides wrecking the fuck out of his garage.

“Called me out so you could look at shit on my garage and make me late for work in the process.”

“Touche.” You shrug. “But hey, on the bright side I’ll know where you live after this so I can just stop by whenever by myself.”

“And that’s the bright side?”

“Okay, you know what? Fuck you. Are we gonna fucking start moving at some point or are we just gonna keep exchanging barbs here?”

“We’re not even exchanging barbs, Dave.” He rolls his eyes at you. “I’ve just been poking them at you in an attempt to pop your inflated ego while you just stood there and took them.”

“Fuck, you’re right. Guess I gotta dish these bitches back out.” You reply. “Your bike is almost as shitty and ugly as your face.”

“Wow.” Karkat says sarcastically. You think he would do the slow clap if he wasn’t gripping his handlebars so tightly. “Good one, Dave. You’re so brilliant. My six year old bike? Shitty? I never saw that one coming. My face? Equally shitty? Dave, you’re a certified genius at deprecation. I hope I can be as clever as you someday.”

“Okay, okay I get it. Here, let’s try this one. Step into the dressing room and slip this one on, check yourself out in the mirror, maybe do a little twirl, examine the color and if it goes well with your skin tone, make sure it fits properly. Try it on for size.” You clear your throat. “Your horns are small-”

“Original.”

“I’m not done, save your comments for the end.” You say. “Your horns are so small you look like some dipshit who cobbled up a quick cosplay of a troll to wear to school for whatever fucking reason and didn’t realize he forgot the horns til he got here so he got a buddy to glue some malformed candy corn into his fucked up Sasuke anime wig.”

“Oh. Huh. I underestimated you, Dave. That was an actual good and unique insult. No one’s ever said I had Sasuke hair before.”

“Maybe not to your _face_.” You shrug. “So are we going or what?”

“Yeah, we’re going.” He snorts and runs a hand through his messy hair again. “Do they really look like malformed candy corn?”

“No.” You answer quickly. “A little. I wouldn’t worry about it, they’re cute.”

Oh fuck. 

He starts walking his bike towards the street and raises an eyebrow at you. “You think my horns are cute?”

“Personally? Nah, I’m not a horny dude. But from the intel I’ve gathered from other people, they’re definitely part of your charm. Or the only part of your charm.”

“As if you would know charm if it bit you in the bulge and gave you rabies.”

“I think we have different definitions of the word “charm” because my version has absolutely zero foaming at the mouth.”

“Oh, really?” You match strides with him as you cross the street. “Then define it for me, asshole.”

So you do. You crack open a Webster on your phone and recite the dictionary definition of charm to him. He tells you that none of those words fit you, and you’re quick to reply that his snaggletoothed ass is one to talk. And on and on like that for awhile. 

It’s a surprisingly long walk to his house, or maybe you’re just walking surprisingly slow. Either way, it’s enough time for the both of you to talk and then lapse into a silence that might be comfortable for him, but feels awkward and tense for you. 

You stew in the silence for about a minute before you take a deep breath and say the first thing that pops out of your mouth.

“So what are your thoughts on Ponyboy?” Shit, why do you keep bringing this up? What the fuck is wrong with you? “I’m guessing you don’t like them now, but what about before this?”

“Honestly, I didn’t really give that much of a shit before this.” Karkat shrugs. “I wouldn’t have called myself a fan, but given that what they used to do was just paint on abandoned and rundown buildings, I would have stood up for them and their right to do that. It’s illegal, sure, but it’s not like it was hurting anyone at all or even damaging property value. Of course, I can’t fucking say that anymore because of what they did to my hive.”

Karkat grits his teeth in annoyance. You feel a sharp pang in your chest, clearly this wasn’t the best topic choice.

“The worst part about it is that I can’t understand why the fuck they would do that.” Karkat groans, dragging one hand across his face dramatically. “They had a good thing going and then they just squatted and took a hot, greasy shit all over it! No one was taken this whole rash of graffiti as a serious issue until they pulled this fucked up publicity stunt. And why my hive? Was it really chosen at random? Or was there a more sinister reason behind it?”

“Publicity stunt? Sinister reason? Karkat, no offense but you sound more paranoid than an illuminati obsessed doomsday prepper in the middle of a doublecrossing spy movie and you just got amnesia for whatever dumb as hell plot reason. Also I’m gonna be real with you, all offense because what the fuck.”

“Of course it’s a publicity stunt!” Karkat exclaims. “There couldn’t be any other reason why Ponyboy would hit a hive in fucking suburbia if they weren’t trying to make a scene and get more exposure for their ‘art’. Think about it, why else would they do it?”

Knowing Dirk, spite. Or maybe he was bored of just fucking around with abandoned buildings. There was a good chance the lack of actual danger and challenge brought by hitting up those areas. Not like you could tell Karkat any of that, though. 

“Well fuck, I guess you’re right.” You shrug. “But what about the sinister part? What the fuck could be sinister about a little spray pain on a garage?”

He gives you a look.

“Okay.” You hold your hands up in surrender. “A lot of spray paint. Still. Do you really think this could be an attack against your family or something?”

“No,” Karkat sighs, “I don’t really think so. At least, I don’t want to think that’s the reason behind it. But it’s definitely a possibility. This place is pretty tolerant, sure, but my Dad didn’t just immigrate here because he thought it would be fun, Dave. I’m not going to get into specifics with you, partially because I don’t think I know you well enough to spill my entire family’s sordid past with you and because if I did I don’t think you’d get it, anyway. All you really need to know is that...well...fuck.”

He stops walking. You pause a few steps ahead and turn so you’re facing him. He’s staring at the ground and frowning, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Whatever he’s trying to say, it’s clearly taking him a lot of effort to admit. 

He looks up suddenly, and your heart stops dead in your chest. “My Dad doesn’t have a sign, Dave.”

“Wait, what?” You must have heard him wrong, right? “But you have a sign? I’ve seen you wear it. You’re literally wearing a necklace with your sign on it right now, it’s right there!”

You point out the offending piece of silver jewelry. Karkat’s hand goes to the charm you’re pretty fucking sure is his sign. He holds it and looks back at the ground again.

“It’s...not a real sign.” He admits. “My Dad came here without one, and he found this one in the horoscope section of the newspaper. It’s the astrological sign for cancer, Dave.”

“Oh my god.” From the very little you know about trolls, having a sign is one of the most basic fundamentals of their culture. “Seriously?”

He nods. 

“What the fuck.”

“I know!” Karkat groans and lets go of his what you can’t fucking believe is just a fucking normal ass human zodiac necklace. “Fuck, I’m not even sure why I told you that. Just...don’t tell anyone else at school, alright? And that includes your sister. Mothergrub knows I need her knowing shit about me to lord over my head.”

“Course not, wouldn’t dream of it. My lips are sealed with that good waterproof crazy glue. You know what makes that shit crazy? The fact that it makes things mad sticky. I’m never gonna be able to open my mouth every again because of you, Karkat. They’re gonna have to pump food directly into my stomach. Shit, I guess this kills my rap career, too. Karkat, that was just in its infancy and you fucking smothered it in its crib like some kind of psychotic dream killer. Well you know what? That’s fine. I’ll just write poetry instead. Because really, what’s rap but a poem with a beat. Everyone will still be dying at my sick rhymes, they’ll just have their eyeballs instead of their eardrums explode. That’s still cool. Yeah, I can handle that. Karkat, your secret is safe with me, but once I ask you to look at my poetry your eyes will not be.”

“Funny, you said your lips were sealed and you wouldn’t be able to talk anymore, and yet here you are, doing just that.” Karkat rolls his eyes and starts walking again. You wait the four steps it takes for him to catch up with you. “Thanks.”

“Dude, don’t thank me. It’s just the decent thing to do.”

“You’d be surprised how hard it is to find somebody decent. Honestly, I’m more shocked by the fact that it turned out to be you of all people.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh I think you know exactly what the fuck it means. What, you think I’ll open up a dictionary, look up the word decent, and it’ll be your big ugly glasses staring blankly back up at me?”

“No, I think they’ll be staring smugly back up at you.”

“Really?” Karkat grins. “Prove it. Look it up and show me right now.”

“Okay, fine, I will. Just give me a sec.”

You do some quick magic on your phone with some photo editing software so it actually does look like your shitty selfie is the actual definition of decent. Karkat nudges you off the sidewalk and onto the empty street with his bike. You get back up without any trouble and push him a little. The two of you keep doing that, talking and shoving each other a bit as you walk the last few blocks to his house. 

The first thing you see is the vibrant red and orange paint standing out against the dull beige background of the garage and adjoining house. It’s the only color in the whole area, and it really fucking shows. You approach the house and stop dead in the driveway. You can’t bring yourself to move closer. 

Karkat keeps going, walking his bike up to the garage and leaning it near the door. 

“Well, there it is!” He announces, gesturing towards it. “Get a good long look at it. Really take this fucker in while I throw my bag inside before I have to run off to work.”

You don’t acknowledge his exit because you can’t stop staring at it.

It looks so....garish in the daylight. Like it wasn’t just some fun thing, some piece of art you and your bro made together. It’s still a good piece, sure, but this doesn’t feel like a piece of work you should defend in any way, shape, or form. 

God, you feel like even more shitty for helping with this. 

There’s a bitter taste in your mouth.

Karkat comes back and takes his bike again. He walks it down the driveway and stops beside you.

“So what do you think?”

“I think,” you swallow thickly, “I think Ponyboy might be an asshole.”

“Yeah.” Karkat nods sagely as he mounts his bike. “I think so, too.”

You tear your eyes from the garage long enough to watch him bike away. His hair is swept by the wind as he rides and disappears down the street.

You turn your eyes back to the garage and flinch. Fuck, you hope this shit doesn’t actually become a big deal and Karkat gets to clean this off. Hell, if he does get to you’ll probably offer to help.

Before that, though, you should probably figure out how the fuck you’re going to get home.

 

Your boss -your dad- was more than okay with you being a little late when you took Dave over to your hive to show him the damage. Of course, you knew he would be okay with it. You’re almost never late and you cover a lot of the shifts Kankri is supposed to cover but just...doesn’t for whatever dumb fucking reason. Honestly, you never asked. Mostly because you know you would get a big lecture on respecting people’s privacy from him and about how it’s not any of your business. 

Your dad was also okay with you taking a little time off and changing your schedule a bit to accomodate spending more time with Dave. Again, this was something you were pretty fucking sure he would be okay with from the get go. The store is small enough that all three of you aren’t needed there at once. Really all he wanted to know is what you were doing with Dave that you were even requesting more time.

Fuck if you knew what to tell him. You have no clue what you’re doing with him at this point.

Ever since Dave walked hom with you the day after the Ponyboy incident, he’s been around way more than usual. Before you were...maybe not exactly friends. Acquantainces, at least. You had a lot of the same friends and would have hung out more socially if you weren’t always at work. 

After that, Dave started to bug you more. He came by your locker and you talked more in the morning before school, he sat with you at lunch, and he walked part of the way home from school with you again. And he did it again the next day, and the day after, and then again the following week.

You hate to admit it, but Dave does have some charm, and it just grows increasingly harder to ignore the longer you spend time with him. 

There are things you dislike, and things you do like. Dave likes rap and dumb comedies, mostly Ben Stiller. You don’t have anything against rap, but it’s not your favorite by a longshot, and as for Ben Stiller, you don’t have much of an opinion on him, either. You’re more of a romantic comedies type of guy, something that Dave finds ridiculous and tries to make fun of constantly. You can both agree that bad movies with terrible effects are some of the best pieces of cinema out there, and that sometimes soft rock from the late 90s-early 2000s is a necessary indulgence.  
Neither of you like long silences, so you fill the space with lots of your own dumbassery. Sometimes you both run out of words while walking home together, so you split a set of headphones and walk slow.

You think Dave might like you, but you don’t know for sure or if you’re just projecting your own feelings on to him. 

(Of course, you’re not telling your dad any of this, as far as he’s concerned, you’re just friends and that’s all).

Between your friendship with Dave and your dad’s mellow attitude about the graffiti, you decide that maybe what happened isn’t such a big deal after all. You redirect your anger about the incident into providing the best customer service you can and flipping off the people who do occasionally crowd your garage to fawn over Ponyboy’s work. 

After about a month, the city decided that the bullshit painted on your garage had garnered enough public attention and discourse all by itself and without their involvement that obviously they had to make it a landmark. 

You complained to Dave about it for a bit, but after an hour you stopped giving a shit. Maybe it was a good thing that Ponyboy hit your garage. It got you Dave, didn’t it?

You took a deep breath, and you let it go. 

You hold no animosity against Ponyboy anymore. As far as you’re concerned, they’re just a local street artist whose identity is a mystery you don’t care enough to solve. 

But after another month, it happens again.

Only this time, it’s worse.

 

What people don’t know about Ponyboy is that they’re not just the one dude. Dirk’s the main in artist in this little organization, yeah, but he’s never been good at handling shit all on his own. Hell, if it weren’t for Jane, Dirk probably would have hit people’s houses he didn’t like instead of inconspicuous buildings around town months ago. 

He got quite the verbal smackdown when she found out about it. Jane’s role, as someone who definitely can’t participate in something so illegal as the heiress to a giant baking corporation but who also still wanted to participate, is to pick the locations she thinks are a prime target for Ponyboy. Areas she thinks are safe options and that no one would mind if they messed with. 

The Vantas house was obviously not on her list of safe targets. As punishment for being a complete asshat and putting personal vendettas above the group’s welfare, Jane kicked him out of the group chat for a few weeks and refused to help with the purchase of his particular shade or orange spray paint.

You didn’t get into any trouble because you didn’t really know what what going on when you helped Dirk with his strike against Kankri, Karkat’s older and more annoying brother. So instead Jane gave you a warning and said you were to shadow Roxy for awhile instead. She also said that you should be careful to stay out of trouble.

Roxy was more fun to hang around and paint with than Dirk. She freehands everything and cracks jokes to you in a voice that you thought was a little too loud and bubbly for the serious situation at hand. But your first night out with her, watching her spray hot pink lines that later developed into some sort of cat alien creature and cracking jokes while she stood on top of a dumpster, you realized that maybe this whole thing could be way more fun and casual than Dirk led you to believe. 

There doesn’t have to be anything dark and gritty about spraying some shit on a wall if you don’t want there to be.

And fuck if you need any part of your life to be dark and gritty. Especially right now, when everything’s going so well for you.

Between your time shadowing Roxy, you’ve been spending a lot of quality time with Karkat. It’s been over a month, and your crush on him hasn’t decreased in the slightest. If anything, actually hanging out with him and getting to know him better has made it grow. Your heart beats just a little faster whenever you share music during a moment that’s a little too quiet for your liking. The few times you’ve gone to a movie with him you can’t focus on the screen because you keep glancing over at him. 

One time you almost held hands.

You think you might actually have a shot with Karkat, and you’re working up the nerve to ask him out on a real date. 

But hey, one stomach churning thing at a time, right? 

On a Saturday night weeks after you start working with Roxy and only a couple since Dirk got let back into the group, Jane decided it was about time you go ahead and take the lead on your own project. She even said you could pick the building, since you only have your debut piece once. 

So you set out into the night with several bottles of bright red spray paint, Roxy trailing behind you as a chaperone and helper. You wander around for awhile before you find the perfect place.

It’s a large, square building, dull gray paint chipping off the bricks. Still, it’s definitely in better shape than a lot of the surrounding abandoned buildings. The surface is smooth, and you have a feeling that your paint and Roxy’s will both pop against it. Plus, you don’t think Ponyboy has hit this part of town yet, so your work will really stand out. 

You set your backpack on the ground and start shaking up a bottle of spray paint. 

“Nice lookin’ building.” Roxy nods, taking your lead and doing the same with one of her own bottles. “Wonder what it was before.”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, popping the cap off the bottle and squating down to the ground. “I didn’t see a sign anywhere.”

“Alright.” Roxy leans against the wall, you can feel her eyes on you. “So what are you planning on painting?”

“Oh, you’ll see.” You grin as you start painting. “It’s gonna be fucking _huge_.”

 

You told your dad you were going to open the shop on Sunday mornings from now on to make up for all the time you missed so he could sleep in for awhile. It’s your third Sunday doing this, and so far it’s been easy but also pretty fucking boring. You spend the first hour or so restocking shit, brewing coffee, and making sure everything’s spotless even though you cleaned the night before. 

Given that it’s Sunday morning, you get very little foot traffic. You’re more than prepared to spend another day standing around drinking coffee and waiting for a single fucking customer to spice up your morning. But then you swerve across the corner and see the building up ahead.

Your mind goes completely blank as you stare straight ahead and continue to bike towards the store. When you’re closer you walk your bike around the back and bring it inside because there’s no bike rack and you don’t need your shit stolen even if it is literally shit. 

You walk into the actual store and put on your work apron. You take out your palmhusk as you begin restocking product. You dial a number and hold the phone between your ear and shoulder.  
“Hi, I’d like to report a crime. Vandalism. 1010 West Strife Avenue. Listen, this is a store and I’m opening for the day, how soon do you think you can get an officer out here? I think it was Ponyboy if that’ll get someone down here faster. Twenty minutes? Alright. Thank you.”

You hang up. Then you dial another number. 

She answers.  
“Kanaya, you’re not going to fucking believe this!”

“It’s seven in the morning.” You hear her yawn. “I’ll believe anything right now if it means I can go back to sleep.”

“There’s a fucking nine foot penis spewing cum all over the wall of the store!” You yell into the other end. “Cum! Bright pink individual semens, all over the goddamn wall, Kanaya!”

There’s silence on the other end. For a second you think she may have hung up. But then she responds.

“Give me ten minutes.”

Then she does.

You grit your teeth and, not knowing what else to do, throw your phone across the store. “Mother _fucker!_ ”

You could live with that shit being sprayed all over your house, but the store? The place your dad’s spent his whole life on this planet building and running to the best of his abilities? His fucking pride and joy? That’s too much. Ponyboy’s gone too far. 

And this time, he’s gonna pay for it. You’ll make sure of that.

 

You decide the first person you want to show your work to are Rose and Dirk. Dirk refused to wake up and mumbled something about going to look at it later, so you just took Rose instead.  
The morning, you think, is the best time to do a walk by and really admire your late night creation. No one’s going to be around since it’s so early, so you can openly stare at it with the pride of an artist clear on your face. 

You drive to the area expecting it to be completely void of cars and people considering it’s buttfuck thirty in the morning on a weekend, but that proves not to be the case. Your heart leaps into your throat as you slow the car to a crawl. There are cars everywhere. 

At least two of them are police cars.

You have to will yourself not to start sweating. Your hands tremble a bit. 

Rose directs you to an open area to park in, apparently completely unphased by the shocking amount of cars and police on the scene. Of course she is, it’s not like they’re looking for any of her tentacle wizards.

You park a couple blocks away from the building you hit last night. From here you can see a small crowd of people and what looks like bright yellow police tape surrounding it. 

Rose leans over to you as you shuffle slowly over to what you can only describe, with your heart sinking, as the crime scene. “Dave, did you vandalize a general store? That’s quite the ballsy move.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” You hiss back at her. “I thought it was abandoned. And keep your fucking voice down.”

“Sorry,” She laughs behind her hand, “but there’s no way I’m going to be keeping my voice down anytime soon.”

You have no idea what the fuck she means by that until she raises a hand up above her head and waves to the crowd. Then you stop seeing just a nondescript crowd and realize you recognize some of the people. 

“Kanaya! Karkat!” Rose calls. “We’re here!”

You see Karkat first. Standing inside the tape and talking to a cop. He gestures wildly behind him, at the angry member standing erect and leaning a little to the left while a fountain of bright pink paisley semen spurts out of it. Karkat doesn’t look happy. In fact, you’d say he looks just as upset as the time Ponyboy painted a tasteful seminude scene on his garage. 

Oh god, this isn’t....

This _can’t_ be...

“Kanaya.” Rose greets. Fuck when did she get over here? “I would say good morning but that seems like an inaccurate statement.”

“Yes, I would say ‘eventful’ or ‘shocking’ would better describe this morning.”

During his tirade with the officer, Karkat’s eyes meet your own, and he stops talking. For a moment, you have his attention. You have no idea what to do, you feel heat crawling up your face as you wave to him. He waves back. You think you see him smile briefly, but then you blink and he’s back to yelling again.

There’s no fucking way that this is the place.

“I can’t believe someone would vandalize Mr.Vantas’s store like that. Especially with a giant dick.” Rose says. “How unoriginal.”

Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck this is not what you had in mind at all when you painted yesterday. You had no goddamn idea that was Karkat’s dad’s store. You thought it was an abandoned building! For christ’s sake, the gas station across the street is completely decimated to the point it looks like shit’s haunted, how the fuck were you supposed to know someone was still conducting actual business here? 

“I know. I don’t know how Mr. Vantas feels about it, but Karkat’s far from happy about it. Dave, are you alright? You don’t look so good.”

You tear your eyes away from Karkat and to Kanaya’s mildly concerned face. “Yeah, I’m fine, all’s good. I’m just tired, it’s like eight in the morning on a fucking weekend and I’m still trying to wake myself up all the way. I don’t know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee to splash in my face.”

“No, I actually did my coffee scrub before I came.” She replies. “There’s coffee inside if you need it.”

“Really? They’re still open, even with the whole fucking crime scene investigation shit going on?”

“Are you kidding? There’s so many people here, of course it’s open right now.”

“Alright. Guess I’ll go in and get me a hot cup of styrafoam bean juice.”

You shamble off towards the store before she can reply. Fuck, even from here it doesn’t look like an actual running store. What the shit. 

You wave to Karkat again as you pass by and head inside the store. The store itself is brightly lit and resembles every other general store you’ve been in before, save for several aisles of Alternian snacks and other products. Near the back of the store there’s a coffee bar, three full pots of coffee with different colored handles to signify which is which. You grab the biggest cup you can find and fill it all the way. You carry the cup in both your hands, warming them as you take it up to the front to pay for it.

There’s a tall, hulking troll at the front counter. He’s so big that he throws the entire counter into shade. He locks eyes with you as you approach, and he smiles. His teeth are pointy and shark like. You try to smile back, but it comes off more as a grimace.

Is that Karkat’s dad? Why the fuck is he so intimidating looking?

You slide your cup of coffee onto the counter and keep your head down. “Just this.”

“Seventy-five cents.” God, his voice is so low, it almost sounds closer to a growl. “You look a bit familiar. You wouldn’t happen to be friends with one of my sons, would you?”

“Yeah.” You drop three quarters on the counter. “I’m Dave, I’m friends with Karkat.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ Dave.” He opens the till and drops your change into the drawer. “I’ve heard of you.”

“You have?” Your eyes snap up to meet his, completely forgetting how fucking scary he looks. 

He laughs. “Yes. Karkat talks about you a lot. From what I’ve heard you seem like a nice kid.”

You take your receipt. “Thank you, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir.” He snorts. “Just Mr.Vantas is fine. Or Vantas, I’m not picky.”

“Alright.” You nod, picking up your coffee and shoving your receipt into your pocket. “Thanks, Mr.Vantas.”

You exit the store and take two steps before you slamming into Karkat. He takes a few steps backwards before fully catching himself, and you somehow manage to keep ahold of your coffee before you can spill it all over him. 

“Oh, holy shit, sorry man.” You apologize as you watch Karkat brush a hand over his work smock. “I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah, I figured you weren’t just playing a fucked up game of cluckbeast right now.” Karkat says, rolling his eyes. “It’s fine, I was distracted and didn’t see you either.”

“You done talking to the cops now or are you just taking a break?”

“Talking to the cops _was_ my break.” Karkat yawns. “I’m supposed to be working right now.”

“That sucks.” You offer your cup of coffee. “Sounds like you could use this.”

He takes it from your hands without any more prompting and drinks. When he returns it, it’s already half gone. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

Karkat walks past you and into the store. 

You sip your coffee as you wander the crowd in search of your sister. She’s standing with Kanaya in front of your work from last night. You feel nauseous just looking at it, but you join them, anyway. 

“Oh, Dave, there you are.” Rose gestures up to your mural. “Have you gotten an eyeful of this yet?”

“Yup.” You nod. “Anyway, I think I’m ready to go. You done flirting with Kanaya?”

“I’m never done flirting with Kanaya.” Rose reaches behind her and takes Kanaya’s hand, bringing it up to her face and kissing it. “But I am ready to go home for a bit. Kanaya, are you free for lunch later?”

“Of course.” 

You and Rose head to the car. Neither of you say anything during the several block journey it takes to get there.

Rose closes the passenger side door and immediately turns to you. “You know, Dave, there are better ways to get a crush’s attention than vandalizing his property.”

You lean against the steering wheel and groan. “It just keeps happening.”

“I know, and it’s honestly a little hilarious.”

“I’m glad you’re finding so much humor in my pain, you sadistic bitch.” You sit back up. “Because I feel like absolute shit about it.”

You take a sip of your coffee. It burns the tip of your tongue. “By the way, thanks for not fucking telling me it was Karkat’s store before we got here and letting that fuckup dawn on me like a diarrhea sunrise. You know, since you clearly were already aware of that fact. How did you know that, anyway?”

“Kanaya told me.” She shrugs. “We talk and text more than most people know.”

“Yeah, well...shit, I wish I’d known before I busted over all excited to show you what I think is probably my most seminal work.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about your first thought being that you should show your dick to your sister, but I do think you did well. Unless you plan on telling Karkat all about this, I don’t think you have anything to worry about with the store. If this is anything like what you did to his garage, everything will be fine and this will all blow over quickly.”

There’s guilt bubbling in the pit of your stomach. God, you hope she’s right.

 

The police are, again, no help. After several days of waiting for them to do something, anything, they do fuckall nothing. Clearly you’re going to have to take matters into your own hands. 

You don’t tell your brother or your dad what you’re doing. Your brother would just spend hours droning at you about how your plan was no better than what Ponyboy did, and your dad really doesn’t give a shit about what happened. Actually, he thinks this new one is hilarious. He even told you that he wouldn’t be against selling bright red dildos in the store if Kankri wouldn’t get on his case about it and probably quit on the spot. 

Yes, that made you laugh. No, it did not quell any of the burning rage deep in your chest. Ponyboy’s being nothing short of a cocky bastard, and someone has to take them down a few pegs. Why not have that someone be you? 

...not just you alone, though. You convinced Kanaya to help you out, too.

You wait for your brother and your dad to go to bed on Saturday before texting Kanaya that you’re leaving. You get ready and sneak out of the hive as quietly as you can, heading down the street to the spot you told Kanaya to meet you at. 

You almost don’t see her when she arrives. She’s dressed all in black and blends into the dark really well. At least you know she’s taking this seriously. 

“Hey, Kanaya.” You hand her a walkie talkie. “Thanks for agreeing to this.”

“Well it wouldn’t be much of a patrol if it was just you.” She shrugs. “And I’d be worried thinking you were just walking around vulnerably in the middle of the night all by yourself. That would really ruin my Saturday night. Did you just hand me a walkie talkie?”

“Kanaya, I’m not walking around being “vulnerable” I’m walking around being a dangerous badass totally capable of defending myself.” You cross your arms over your chest indignantly. “And yeah, it’s a walkie talkie.”

“Karkat, we have cellphones.”

“Where the fuck’s the fun in that?” You dig out your own walkie talkie. “It’s my vigilante patrol and I say we use the walkie talkies. Over.”

She sighs but talks into it anyway. “Do I really have to say over?”

“Yes. Over.” You reply. 

Kanaya rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. Over. So where do you want to start looking? Over.”

“Oh I have a few ideas.” You reply. “Over.”

The ideas you have mostly consist of the both of you walking around town together until you get to an area that you think Ponyboy might be likely to strike. Then you’re going to split up and search out suspicious people separately and keep track of each other with the walkie talkies. And if you don’t find anyone here, you’ll backtrack and go look somewhere else, starting the whole process over again until dawn begins the break. 

You’re really hoping it’s not going to take that long. 

You walk a little ways past the store with its red and exploding erection and down the street, where the buildings slowly turn from recently abandoned and a little rundown to decrepit and decaying. You pause at the first crossroads you see and turn to Kanaya.

“I think we should split up now.”

She nods in agreement. 

“Make sure you use the walkie talkie if you see anything suspicious.”

Kanaya nods again and walks a little ways down the street. You watch her, thinking that’s the end of the conversation. Then you hear some crackling from your own walkie talkie and bring it up to your ear.

“Roger that. Over.”

You start walking in the opposite direction, peering deep into the alleyways and listening intently for anything that might sound even remotely strange. The first few alleys seem to be empty, save for a stray cat you accidentally startle into running away. Other than that, all’s quiet tonight.

You pick up your walkie talkie. “Karkat to Kanaya. All seems clear on my end. Anything strange there? Over.”

“Karkat of course I know it’s you, you don’t have to announce it. No one else in this day and age would think a walkie talkie is a good idea. Over.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Over.”

“Clear. Over.”

You sigh and tilt your head back so you’re looking up at the sky as you walk. The moon and the stars are even brighter than usual tonight, probably because it’s growing close to winter. Too bad you can’t enjoy looking at them right now. “This is boring as fuck. Over.”

“This was your idea, Karkat. Over.”

“Yeah, I know.” You scuff the ground with your shoe. You really misjudged how much area you’d have to cover. It’s going to take way more than just the two of you if you ever want to have a chance in hell of actually finding the fucker. “Maybe after this we should-”

_fssh_

Oh holy shit, what was that? “Kanaya did you hear that?”

_fssh_

The telltale sound of a spray bottle, loud and obvious in the dark silence. Kanaya doesn’t respond. You hold your breath and creep towards the source.

You peek around the corner and into the alleyway. 

Your breath leaves you and your bloodpusher falls dead into your stomach. Fuck.

There they are. Standing in the alley, bottle of spray paint in hand. Nightvision goggles and a bandana obscure their face, but there’s no mistaking who this is.

Ponyboy.

How do you approach without them seeing you? How do you catch them? 

Shit, you didn’t plan this through. Maybe if you just move as quietly as possible towards them, they won’t notice? 

You slide yourself into the alley, hugging the bricks as you slowly inch closer. You breathe slowly out of your nose.

So far, so good.

You slide closer. This isn’t as hard as you thought. Now all you have to figure out is what you’re going to do when you catch them.

A bit closer. You’re so close, almost an arm’s length away now. 

You got this. 

You take a deep breath.

“Karkat, you never said over, everything okay? Over.”

Kanaya’s static voice is so loud that it makes you drop the walkie talkie and Ponyboy jump in surprise. You’re frozen in place as you watch them drop the spray can and bolt down the alley.

“Fuck.” You pick up your walkie talkie and give chase. “Stop right there!”

Ponyboy stays at least three feet in front of you as you run after them, staying completely quiet and out of reach as you shout profanities at them. You follow them through the winding alleys and empty street. 

Ponyboy doesn’t seem to have as much endurance as they do speed, and eventually they begin to slow down. Luckily for you, you still have enough energy to still catch them. You pick up speed.

There’s a turned over garbage can that you don’t notice until you trip over it.

You eat shit and have to pick yourself up off the rough garbage strewn ground. Your knees are bleeding and you think your scraped your cartilage nub a little, but otherwise you’re fine. In the time it takes you to get back to your feet, any possibility you had of gaining on them should be gone. Ponyboy is already at the end of the alley. You can see the brightness of their nightvision goggles staring unblinkingly at you.

But for some reason...they’re not moving? 

Were they waiting to make sure you were okay? 

You shake your head. Of course they weren’t. They’re just taunting you. They want you to still think you have a chance so you get your hopes up just so they can run away and disappear, dashing your hopes against the sharp and disappointing reality. 

You pick up the lid of the trashcan and hold it up like a shield in front of you. 

“Hey, fuckheel,” you yell to them, “eat my bulge.”

Then you run at them, screaming and swinging the lid wildly. You think you must surprise them, because you swear you see Ponyboy jump again before taking off. 

But as you’d noticed before, they’re losing energy and getting slower. And you have no intention of letting this ass bucket get away. 

You gather up as much energy as you can and concentrate it into one final burst of speed so you can not only close the distance, but overtake them. 

You run as fast as your legs can physically carry you and plow right into Ponyboy’s back. The lid almost buckles under the pressure of being forced against another person. Your weight and momentum send both of you sprawling to the ground. Ponyboy falls first, and you tumble over them in a somersault.

Somehow you end up perfectly fine. Ponyboy beside you doesn’t seem quite as well off. The bandana’s fallen from around their mouth and hangs around their neck. They’re laying on the ground and groaning, holding a hand against their head. You scramble towards them while they’re down and straddle them so they can’t get up.

“Caught you, you pretentious paint stained bastard.” You sneer down at them.

Wait. 

Now that you’re up close and you can really look at them, you can’t hep but notice that they look...familiar...

Too familiar.

Your hand moves of its own accord towards Ponyboy’s night vision goggles. They slip easily off their face.

“Dave?”

 

“Karkat, I can explain.” 

He glances up at you briefly from across the table. All you can really see are his eyes, half of his face is covered by his hand. From the bright lights of the diner, you can still see part of the scrape on his nose peeking from between his fingers. Under the table, one of his knees is still bleeding, the fabric of his pants torn away. 

You feel a little bad about that, but it’s not like you left this unscathed, yourself. The pounding in your head reminds you of that much. 

“So do it, then.” He replies. “Explain yourself.”

“I...” Fuck, this is harder than you thought it would be. How do you explain yourself?

When Karkat caught you and took off your goggles, he looked so hurt by the realization that you were Ponyboy. (Or at least, that you were involved with them). And he was so shocked by the discovery that he seemed to go catatonic on top of you. You told him then that you could explain it all, but that you would rather do that someplace else. Spilling your guts in a trash filled alley with Karkat straddling you didn’t seem like a great idea at the time. 

So you gently pushed him off you, helped him to his feet, and started walking. You took his hand and led him in a backtrack to where you abandoned your duffel bag full of paints and threw it over your shoulder. Then you kept walking. There was a diner you thought would be a good place for this. Casual. Public. You told Karkat not to worry if he didn’t have any money because it was your treat. 

You held his hand as tight as you could. It was hot and a little sticky, probably from whatever was on that trashcan lid he hit you with. 

Before going in, Karkat stopped and sat on the sidewalk. He mumbled something about not wanting to go in because of the blood on his knee. He didn’t want anyone to see it. You hadn’t noticed it until he pointed it out. Unsure of what to do, you handed him your sweat soaked bandana and told him to do whatever he wanted with it. He wrapped it around his leg and continued inside behind you. You weren’t holding hands anymore.

“Where should I start?” 

“The beginning would be nice.” 

But where the fuck is the beginning? “Uh...”

Your waitress comes back, her presence doesn’t cut the tension between you at all, but at least it provides the presence of milkshakes and a plate of share fries. “That everything for you boys?”

You look up at her and nod. You can’t imagine how fucking terrible you and Karkat both look right now. You have your goggles pushed up into your hair and your shades back on. You’re both clad in black. You have a duffel bag sitting beside you. “Yeah, thanks.”

She doesn’t seem phased by you in the slightest. “Alright. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do.” 

She leaves. You pick up a piping hot french fry and dip it in your chocolate shake. Or you try to. There’s an absolute mountain of whipped cream on top, plus a cherry that you quickly pluck off and pop into your mouth. 

Karkat snorts but catches himself before he starts laughing outright. 

That stings a little bit.

“Are you gonna eat your cherry, Karkat?”

He glares at you and picks the cherry up out of his shake. He drops it onto his napkin and smashes it into a gloopy cherry mess with the back of his spoon.

“You could have just said no. Don’t have to make a mess for the nice waitress to clean up later, Karkat. Why would you be that kind of asshole?”

“You’re one to talk, guy who ruined my fucking life.”

You flinch. “Come on, I can’t have ruined your _whole_ life. Just your garage and store.”

Even to your ears that sounds bad. Fuck.

Karkat sighs and plays with the straw in his strawberry milkshake. “Why’d you do it, Dave? This whole time I thought we were friends. Obviously I must be wrong, though, as usual.”

“What, no!” You resist the urge to reach across the table and grasp his hand again. Instead you shift your hand a few inches to the left and grab a handful of fries instead. “Karkat, I do like you. A lot. Honestly, both of those were a mistake on my part. Although actually the first one was my brother and definitely seems like it was on purpose...”

Karkat tilts his head. “Your brother?”

“Yeah.” You nod. You guess this is as good a place to start as any. “Ponyboy isn’t just me, it’s a whole group of people. Honestly the only reason the group even collectively goes by Ponyboy is because Dirk won a couple rounds of rock paper scissors. I have no idea what the fuck the other ideas were, but they probably weren’t references to The Outsiders or the fact that my brother is a proud brony.”

He cracks half a smile before he cstops himself and bites his lower lip. 

“But what happened with your garage was all Dirk. He and Kankri apparently have a couple classes together and your brother really grinds him the wrong way. I guess he thought that was enough reason to paint your garage out of spite. I wouldn’t have helped at all if I’d known it was yours.”

Karkat picks up a french fry. “So you did help.”

“Yeah, I did.” You could easily lie and say you didn’t, but really what would be the fucking point. “It was my first time out doing anything and I felt like shit after.”

“Not like that stopped you.” He rolls his eyes and takes a sip from his milkshake. The whipped cream on top has melted a little into an unattractive glob. “You know, you only started hanging out with me after that happened. Were you only doing that because you felt guilty and you thought pretending to be buddies with me would make you feel better?”

“Karkat, no, of course not. I already said that wasn’t the case, clean the garbage out of your ears.” You snap back at him. He doesn’t look like he believes you. Really, why should he? You slide down in your booth a little. “Actually, now that I think about it...yeah, that had a little to do with it.”

You swear you see him grimace. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. Fuck. 

You continue on. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I didn’t want to be friends with you before that. I just couldn’t figure out a way in. I mean, we already hang out with a lot of the same people, and you were always so busy with student council and work and shit that it never seemed like you had time to really get to know someone better. So if I could have found a different way to do this, I would have. You know what they say, when god closes a door, a window magically appears in its place like some Criss Angel magic trick only it’s an illusion and actually there’s nothing there at all, so you gotta make your own way through and bust through those bricks yourself.”

Karkat picks up another fry. “I’ve never heard anybody say that.” 

“Really? It’s a pretty common expression.” You say. “Rose has it embroidered on a throw pillow and everything.”

“Okay, fine. So you were involved with the garage against your own free will. Fine. That doesn’t make you not an asshole for doing it and not telling me, but I get it.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. Karkat understanding is really the best you could hope for right now. Really, you’re just glad he doesn’t outright despise you. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. I said I get it. I didn’t say I forgave you or that I ever want to fucking talk to you ever again after this.” He takes a long tentative sip from his milkshake as if he didn’t just shove an ice pick directly into your chest. “And what about the rest of it? Was the store your dumb shit hoofbeast fucker brother’s idea, too? Or was it something else?”

“No, that one was all me.” You admit. “But in my defense I didn’t know that was your dad’s store. How the fuck was I supposed to know, it’s not like I’m hiding a third eye under these shades, Karkat. It just looked like a less shitty building in the shittier part of town. There weren’t even any signs! Obviously if I knew, I would have picked somewhere else to paint my first project on. Or I would have painted something not quite as...”

“Not safe for work?”

You snort. “Yeah. Listen, I know this doesn’t make up for anything, but I can wash the dick off the wall. It’ll take a lot of grease, mostly from my elbows and some other unmentionable areas. Well, not that unmentionable, I did plaster it all over the wall. Point is I’m more than happy to clean up my mess.”

Karkat shakes his head. “No. At this point that would just make things worse. With all the publicity you’re stupid dick has caused, at least now people know we’re a fucking store. Granted, we’re the store with the bright red bulge and the pink paisley sputum on the side, but that’s better than being mistaken for a dilapidated shitshack. Honestly, with all the hard work I put in to the store and trying to get people to come, I’m pissed off that all it took was someone waggling their malformed penis around to accomplish so much more shit than I have.”

He sighs and plays with his straw. “Just...leave it, Dave. It would do way more harm than good at this point.”

“Karkat,” Fuck, you don’t know what to say here. But you need to say something..."I wouldn’t say it was malformed.”

Really? You could have said anything and that’s what you went with? What the fuck.

You open your mouth to say something probably just as stupid when Karkat’s ringtone breaks the silence before you can. He takes it out and glances at it. “It’s Kanaya, I have to take this.”

You sit quietly across from him and continue shoveling handfuls of fries into your mouth as he talks. 

“Hey, Kanaya. I’m okay, I’m at a diner with Dave right now. You have? Fuck, sorry I dropped it while I was chasing Ponyboy, who obviously in a shocking and shitty turn of events, turned out to be Dave. From your sarcastic gasp you’re not as surprised as I was. You know what, you’re right the bright red cock was a pretty big Strider moniker. How did I not make the connection sooner? Where are you, anyway? Great, I don’t think I’m too far from there. You want to meet halfway? Alright, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Bye.”

He puts his phone away and glances over to you. “Dave, it was crooked and leaning to the left, of course it was malformed. Are you going to finish these?”

Karkat points to the remains of the fries. You slide the plate over to him. “No, go ahead.”

He holds his hand out. “Give me your napkin.”

You hand it over. Karkat picks up the fries left on the plate and wraps them up in your napkin. He takes his handful of fries and scoots out of the booth.  
Karkat’s back is turned to you, and his head is down as he speaks. “Dave, I want you to know that I don’t...I don’t hate you, and despite how much I want to, I’m not going to tell the police or anyone else about this. I’m going to leave to meet up with Kanaya, don’t follow me. Just finish your milkshake, and don’t talk to me again for awhile. I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

You can’t actually summon the words, the goodbye is lodged in your throat under a thick glob of chocolate milkshake. You try to swallow it down as you watch him walk away. 

You feel nothing short of god awful about it. Everything’s been fucked to hell and back and it’s all your own damn fault. 

He opens the door. And just like that, he’s gone.

He didn’t look back once.

 

On Saturday night you split lukewarm french fries and spill your guts to Kanaya. She just ate and listened. Sunday you spent most of the day lying in bed, sleeping and playing the events of the night before over and over in your head until you felt dizzy and nauseated. On Monday, Dave doesn’t talk to you just like you asked. Not only that, he doesn’t so much as look at you. 

On Tuesday, Dave leaves you completely alone.

Wednesday is the same. So are Thursday and Friday. 

Next week follows the same pattern of Dave ignoring you per your request. You know you asked for this, but you can’t help but feel even worse about yourself than usual. 

Spending time with Dave felt...easy. You’re comfortable with him in a way that’s just not the same with anyone else. Talking to Dave was one of your favorite parts of walking home. His voice is weirdly soothing, and even though his fucked up mixed metaphors sometimes grind on your nerves, they make you laugh most of the time. 

You hate to admit it, but you miss spending time with him. Your walks home are a lot lonelier without Dave there to shoot the shit with every night. You dive headfirst into work to try and distract yourself, but every time you have to look at that stupid giant bulge you feel a pang of dejection deep in your pusher. 

You miss Dave, yes, but it’s not like you can do anything about it. Sure, he apologized, but that doesn’t mean you have to forgive him. And with nothing but rushed words out of his mouth and no actions to back them up, you’re not sure you can. 

Two weeks after Dave stopped talking to you, you get to school on Monday still wrestling with whether you should break the tension between you and talk to him. He sounded sincere, and from what he said it sounded like it was all just a bunch of mistakes that managed to fuck up in your disfavor. 

But aside from the hasty apology, he hasn’t done anything since. He hasn’t tried to make amends or atone for his actions at all. You can’t just forgive him and move on. Actions have consequences, and sometimes those consequences are absolute shit for everyone involved.

You trudge over to your locker in the morning to dump your stuff when you notice some things taped to it. Photos. Vaguely familiar looking buildings from around town. You peel one off so you can examine it better. 

The photo in your hand is a Polaroid, it has the look and feel of vintage, but is clearly recent because the buildings are covered in new Ponyboy graffiti you’ve never seen before. From the photos you can now tell for certain that the graffiti is all the work of multiple artists. None of which, you’re surprised to find, are Dave. 

Or at least you don’t think any of them are Dave’s work. 

What is his work is the writing scratched in red across the bottom of the Polaroid. 

can i take you somewhere saturday i have something i want to show u 

You stick the first one in your pocket and peel off another one.

nothing weird promise

You roll your eyes. The last photo you peel off simply asks if you’ll be available around nine. You stuff the rest of them into your pockets and shove everything in your locker just as you’d meant to when you arrived. 

You’re so relieved to even hear from him at all you have to bite back the stupid grin threatening to overtake you as you walk to your first class. It’s even harder when you arrive and find Dave sitting there at his desk, talking to Rose. You take a long drink from your thermos just to fill yourself with something bitter to help you out. 

You take a deep breath and approach him. Dave and Rose stop talking and stare at you expectantly. You stare down at the desktop to avoid the intensity of their gazes. “Nine on Saturday’s fine with me.”

Dave’s face lights up, and you almost die on the spot. “Perfect, see you then.”

You nod and turn around before your bright face gives away how happy you are about this. 

Despite your unbridled joy of having Dave communicate with you at all again, you don’t talk to him for the rest of the week. A couple photos and a request to hang out isn’t enough to make you back down and forgive him yet. You’re going to stand your ground as stubbornly as possible no matter how much you despise doing it, just to get your point across.

That being said, you can’t wait for Saturday. You’re over the damn moon and bouncing on cloud nine about this. The week can’t go by fast enough. 

But then before you know it, Saturday has come and nine o’clock is fast approaching. Dave, pullling out all the ironic stops, arrives in a little beige minivan for you about a half hour early. You hug your dad good bye and tell him you’re not sure when you’ll be back. He pats you on the back before letting you go and handing you the hive key and says that it’s fine as long as you text him when you get to where you’re going and when you leave so he knows you’re safe. Then you’re right out the door and jumping into the passenger seat of Dave’s minivan.

“Yo,” Dave says as you slam the door shut behind you, “long time no hang. Missed ya out on the laundry line, bro. Kinda lame just drying out here in the sun all by myself, glad to have you pinned and dripping next to me again. I mean socially, obviously, not in a way that could be construed differently. I’m glad to have you around again I’ve wanted to get back to chilling with you again. Sticking an ice cube down my shirt and blasting the dirtiest rap into my headphones just isn’t the same. Doesn’t give me the same shivers as your presence in a confined space does. I’m telling you, it’s cool as an ice cream truck full of cucumbers during a December snow storm in here and it’s all cause of you, Karkube. That and I think I have the A.C. on. Oh, shit I do. Hold up a sec.”

You hadn’t even noticed it was on, but honestly you wouldn’t have minded if he kept it on. You feel like you’re burning up right now. “Are we planning on leaving my driveway anytime soon?”

“Oh, uh...yeah, yeah of course.” He nods sheepishly and starts driving. “So, how’ve you been the past few weeks?”

“I’m alright.” You shrug. “Can’t complain.”

He snorts.

“Oh, fuck you. I mean I can’t complain more than the amount of complaining I do regularly, you engorged asshole.” You roll your eyes. “I finally convinced Dad to invest some of our newfound revenue in a sign for the store. A few months from now and we’ll finally look like an actual fucking business and stop getting mistaken for free property by dicks looking to rub out a shoddy monochrome self portrait for a thrill.”

“I know most of that was aimed at me but I’m just gonna ignore that glancing blow and focus on the fact that you’re finally getting a goddamn sign. You’ll have to tell me when you unveil that sweet fucker so I can come over and make a celebratory purchase. Buy some firecrackers and set them off in the lot or something.”

“Or you could just come around every day and check for yourself.” You shrug. 

Dave smirks. “Karkat, are you inviting me to come socialize with you at work? God, you’re such a no good slacker, how has the big boss man not fired you yet?”

“I ask myself that same question every day.” You sigh sarcastically. “No, moron, obviously you’re going to have to buy some shit. I can’t have you loitering around like a lumpy jizz sack and distracting me all night.”

“So you’re saying just my presence is enough to distract you? My face is like hot glue and you can’t take your eyes off me even if you tried?”

“No, I’m saying you’re so weird looking that just the sight of you turns my pan to mush.” Fuck, did you just say looking at him melts your pan? Like you can’t think when you’re with him? That doesn’t sound like an insult at all. God, it’s been so long since you’ve hung out with Dave that you’re off your game now. It’s so much harder to throw insults at someone you’re into than you remember. “Last night Dad and I discussed changing the name of the store, since we’re getting the sign and all.”

“Really?” Dave sounds genuinely interested in your change of topic. “What to?”

“Big Redick’s.”

“Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “it was my dad’s idea.”

“Oh my god,” he’s practically wheezing with laughter, “Karkat, I think I’m in love with your dad.”

“I can’t believe you would do this to me.” You gasp melodramatically. “Cheating on me, and with my father? What kind of fucked up betrayal is this?”

“Sorry, man. That’s just how it is.” Dave shrugs. “Guess you gotta get used to calling me daddy from now on.”

“Fuck, Dave!” You’re laughing so hard you’re trying not to choke on it.

Honestly, you’re not even sure it’s all that fucking funny, but Dave’s laugh is infectious and you just can’t stop. It’s embarrassing to admit, Dave makes you giggly in the stupidest way. The two of you are just sitting there, laughing your asses off as Dave drives to some part of town you’ve never been to.

You wipe a stray tear from your eye as Dave slows the car down and parks in front of a big hive. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. 

“Speaking of family-”

You snort.

“Shut it.” He pushes you lightly on the arm. “I just want you to know that my brother is in there. You know, uh...the O.G. Ponyboy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean the bastard whose original plan it was to wreck my hive?”

“Yeah, that guy.”

“Perfect, I have some shit I want to say to him.” You unbuckle and walk up the driveway to the hive. Dave follows you, still walking up when you reach the door.

Dave pushes the door open. “It’s okay, you can just walk in. Jane doesn’t mind. Everybody’s probably in the basement by now, anyway, so they couldn’t hear you even if you did knock.”

“Okay. Lead the way.” 

You follow Dave inside and through the different blocks and down the stairs. 

“Hello, Dave!” A cheerful voice exclaims when he reaches the bottom, you two steps behind. “Nice of you to finally join us. Didn’t you say you were bringing someone with you tonight?”

“Yeah, I did.” He nods, stepping aside to let you through. “And here’s my guest now, presenting to the Ponyboy Group, President Crabman Vantas.”

You trudge down the last few steps, blood rushing to your face at the several pairs of eyes and one pair of shades focused on you. “That’s Treasurer Crabman, shitsnack, I don’t know why we have to keep going over this.”

“Vantas.” Says some guy with pointy anime reminescent shades that you think is probably Dave’s brother. “So you must be a relation of Kankri’s. I can see the resemblance.”

He gestures on top of his head and makes a motion that’s supposed to resemble your small horns.  
“And you look like a dripping piece of chewed up ass trying to cover your shame with a dark pair of glasses.” You reply. “You must be Dave’s jerkoff brother.”

Someone laughs. A girl who looks like her style was lifted from a 60‘s comic book about a girl living in the distant futuristic year 2007. “He’s got your number there, Dirk.”

“He really does.” Chuckles another girl. She looks like the one who purchased the aforementioned comic book. “Karkat, quit lurking on the stairs and have a seat on the couch, we’re about to start.”

You move away from the stairs and trudge over towards the one big and lumpy couch near the middle of the room. It’s positioned in a way so it’s facing a wall with an old whiteboard attached. Rose and the retro girl scoot closer together on the couch to make room for you. Dirk is seated in a plastic chair that looks like he stole it off someone’s back porch, his legs outstetched so his feet rest on one of the couch’s arms. You take a seat next to Rose, sinking deep into the loosely springed cushion. Dave sits down on the floor next to your feet.

“Perfect.” Claps the girl standing by the whiteboard who told you to sit down. “Now we can finally start! First things first, introductions are in order. I’m Jane, welcome to my basement.”

The other girl leans over Rose and grins at you. “Hey, the name’s Roxy! I’m the second Strilonde sister you might have heard a hella lot about.”

She holds out a fist to you expectantly. You bump it and she pulls her hand back in a fake exploding noise. Beside you, Rose rolls her eyes at her sister’s antics. 

“And you already know Dirk.” Jane says, bringing your focus back to her. “As I said, time for business. Roxy, the projector, please.”

Roxy gives Jane a finger gun. “Got it.”

She presses something, and a map pops up onto the whiteboard. You recognize it as a map of the town. 

Jane pops the cap off of a marker and begins to put large blue x’s on several areas of the map. She takes out a different marker and circles several more. 

“The circled areas are what we’re planning on doing either tonight or tomorrow. The x’s are what we hit last week, a few of which were Dave’s suggestion. Now, as we discussed at that time, this was a somewhat risky decision. But, as it went so successfully last time, I think we can do the same thing now, too. So, I picked a couple struggling local businesses and several of the usual areas for anyone who may want some more free reign on their art pieces.”

She gives Dirk a look. Dirk in reply, stares up at the ceiling and pretends not to notice. You look down at Dave curiously. What was Jane talking about? Local businesses? 

“So, if anyone would like to come up here and claim a place, feel free to do so before I start assigning them. Dirk? Rose? Roxy?”

You notice how she doesn’t say Dave’s name at all. 

Dirk raises his hand. “I’d like the freedom space, thanks. I refuse to have my creativity smothered by someone’s constraining rubric.”

“That’s why you keep failing art class, Dirk.” Roxy snarks as she gets up. “Jane, can I have this one?”

“Of course.”

Jane, Roxy, and Rose have a long discussion about the areas left on the map. Dave crawls up onto the couch beside you. Neither of you say anything, you just listen to the others talk. As they continue on about things you know absolutely shit about, you feel Dave’s fingers rest gently on your hand. You resist the urge to lean againt him, but you don’t pull your hand away. 

“Hey, boys.” You almost jump and glance upwards to see Rose smirking at you. “When you’re done rubbing your adorkably embarrassing flirtation to all of us, we’ll be waiting in the van.”

Rose, Roxy and Dirk all file up the stairs. Roxy winks at you as she goes and you try your best not to look too embarrassed. 

“Well,” Jane says awkwardly, clearing her throat, “I live here, but I suppose I could give you boys a minute alone. Just shout when you’re ready to come back upstairs.”

You watch as Dave’s ears turn a vibrant shade of red. “Thanks, Jane.”

“Don’t mention it.” She giggles as she ascends the stairs.

And just like that, you’re alone with Dave. 

“So,” you stare down at Dave’s hand on yours. Your fingers are practically twitching. Fuck, you want to intertwine them between yours and squeeze them. But there are more important things on your pan right now, “what was that Jane was talking about earlier? About local businesses and art? What kind of shit are you out there planning, Dave?”

“Oh, yeah! That’s actually what I invited you out for tonight. Not to toot my own horn or anything because let’s face it, I’m more of a percussionist at heart we both know this. You ever tried to toot your horn, Karkat? Shit’s difficult as fuck, I couldn’t get my mouth down there even if I wanted to. That’s saying something, though, because my horn is one of those big fancy dealies. Like a French horn except not twisted up as much as one of those crazy straws. Nah, I prefer the hands on approach, you know how it is.” He shrugs. “Anyway, like I was saying I thought a lot about what I did to you and what we talked about at the diner. You know, about how my ginormous penis and how it inadvertently helped out your store? Well, I thought that after all of the support the community’s given us, it was about time we give back a little and try to promote local business in the only way we can. As Ponyboy, through art.”

“Wow.” You lean in closer to Dave. “So you’re helpng out struggling businesses with more depictions of morbidly deformed genitalia?” 

“No.” He rubs his face with one hand to cover the obvious flush coloring it. “No, these are more appropriate, less sexy pieces. Sorry to disappoint, dude.”

“But that’s all you know how to draw!” You exclaim. “And you can’t even draw that very well!”

“Yeah, I know.” He admits, shrugging and leaning heavily against the couch. He’s so close to you right now, his face mere inches from yours. You can see yourself reflected in his glasses and holy fuck, you’re grinning like a doe eyed idiot. “Actually, I’m not planning on doing any of the art myself anymore. After everything that happened, how nervous and guilty and just fucking god awful I felt the whole time, I realized it just wasn’t my thing.”

“Wait, you’re not going to be involved with Ponyboy anymore, Dave?” Fuck, you feel a little bad about that. Even though you don’t approve, Dave’s whole family seems to be in this group, and you’d hate to stand in the way of Dave spending quality time with his family.

“No, I still plan on doing shit. I made myself a new position, I’m the driver now.” He shrugs. “That’s why I had the van tonight, actually.”

Dave takes a deep breath. You inch towards him to make it clear you’re listening as intently as you can.

“Karkat, I know none of this is an apology and that I can’t really make up for the shit that’s happened. And I’m not trying to make you be friends with me still, none of this is me trying to butter you up or rub any other spreadable condiment all over you. Not if I can help it. It’s fine if you want to cut ties with me altogether after this, I understand. I just wanted you to know what’s going on now, with Ponyboy and everything. And with me, too, I guess.”

He lapses into silence. His fingers feel warm and heavy against your hand. God, even his hand is red.

That’s...kind of cute.

Fuck, you can’t take it anymore. You turn your hand over and squeeze Dave’s fingers affecctionately. His hand is sweaty. 

“Dave.” 

He looks at you, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “Yeah, Karkat?”

You close the distance between you, your hand reaching up to stroke the warmth of his cheek. “I’ve really missed hanging out with you. Just one thing, though.”

He tilts his head. “What?”

Your mouth is so close to his right now. You can taste his breath. “Can we do _this?_ ”

Dave grins. “Oh, _fuck_ yes.”

 

It ends with your kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> (And if you're Sam, thank you so so so much for the request and for being cool and I hope you liked this fic you funky little memer)


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